


Lifeline

by Hexiva



Category: James Bond - Ian Fleming
Genre: 1950s, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Drowning, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Sharing Breath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva
Summary: Bond is trapped in the villain's empty piranha tank, slowly filling with water. As he awaits his death, his old friend Felix comes to rescue him.
Relationships: Felix Leiter/James Bond
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt (randomly generated) "Felix Leiter/James Bond, breathing." Written for MI6-Cafe's Rarepair February.

James Bond was chained, hand and foot, on the floor of the underwater base, as Dr. Seth Abaddon walked out of the room with a casual wave. Shivering in the cold water, Bond struggled over to the glass wall of the tank. It was a vast tank, the size of a public swimming pool, and it took him quite some time to edge himself over, unable to stand with his legs bound. Balancing himself on his hips and his hands, he lifted his chained legs and slammed them, together, into the glass. It didn’t even crack. He did it again and again, as the water started to fill the tank. When the water had covered his legs, Bond realized that he wasn’t going to be able to break the glass - he would be unable to build up the same momentum underwater - and additionally, that if he couldn’t stand up, he would drown very soon. 

He braced himself against the slick glass, and tried to straighten his legs. All he managed to do was knock himself over into the water, forcing himself to struggle to get back to his knees. If only his hands were cuffed in front of him, instead of behind him! If only his feet were free!

Despite himself, fear began to pound in his chest. Was this how he was to die? Drowned in some madman’s fish tank? It would make one hell of an obituary. No; Bond knew there would be no details in his obituary, nothing about who he was or what he had done. He had lived a secret and he would die a secret. 

The water reached his chin, and then, despite Bond’s desperate attempts to stand, began to lap at his mouth. God, why couldn’t it come faster? He couldn’t bear the waiting, the slow rise of the water, killing him inch by inch. 

And then someone pounded on the door. Bond almost inhaled water as adrenaline flooded his veins -  _ someone was there.  _ Another person, someone he could perhaps use, could perhaps wield as a tool for his escape. “Hello!” he called out. “Help!”

“James!” came a familiar Texan voice from behind the door. “There you are, damn you! Hold your horses, I’m picking the lock.”

A flood of relief overwhelmed Bond, and for a moment he was so overcome with joy that he couldn’t respond. Felix! Felix, of all people, was here! It was going to be okay after all. “Hurry up, the water’s nearly to my mouth!” he called out.

“Shit. Okay. Hold on.” There were the sounds of scratching at the lock, and Bond tilted his face up to stay above water, and shut his eyes, and focused all of his thoughts on Felix, the tiny sounds of metal on metal, the distant sound of his breath. He thought how much this was like a movie - Leiter, the dashing cowboy hero, and himself, the damsel in distress bound to the train tracks. 

As the water rose up over Bond’s nose, he held his breath, and the door, at last, slammed open. Through the flickering, blurring barrier of the water, he glimpsed Leiter, clad in diving gear - the easiest way to reach the underwater base. The water was above his head now. 

“James!” Leiter dragged a chair over to the tank, and jumped into the water. Bond saw Leiter clearly now, his mop of blond hair becoming a golden halo underwater. Leiter wrapped his arms around Bond’s torso, his skin warm in the cold water, and tried to lift Bond up to the surface - but the chains were too heavy, and with his hands and feet bound, Bond was dead weight, unable to help. Bond’s lungs burned, and the panic started to bloom in his chest again. 

Leiter let go of him, and Bond stared up at him helplessly as Leiter swam away from him, back up to the increasingly distant surface. Was this how he died? Had Felix given up on him? Bond shut his eyes.

And then suddenly Felix’s hands, one metal and one flesh, were on him again, and Bond felt lips on his. A shock went through his body, and his mouth opened.

_ Air.  _ Leiter was breathing into his mouth, and Bond breathed in, his eyes opening to see Leiter’s handsome, familiar face inches away from his own, as close as a lover. 

Leiter’s hand found his, and pressed something into Bond’s grip. Something long and thin, metal - of course. The lockpick. Yes! Bond gripped the lockpick, and carefully inserted it into the lock of his chains. Picking a lock behind you, with your hands bound behind your back - not an easy task, but he had been trained for this. He just hadn’t expected to be doing it underwater. 

Leiter pulled away from him, and went up to the surface, filling his lungs again, and came back down to press his lips to Bond’s again. Heat flooded Bond’s body, and he told himself it was just embarrassment. It wasn’t a thing any red-blooded man wanted to do, pressing faces with his best friend. It was simply a matter of survival. 

The lockpick slipped out of his fingers, and he swore mentally as it drifted out of his reach down to the bottom. Leiter dived down and grabbed it, pressing it again into Bond’s hands before he swam up to the surface again. Bond dug the pick into the lock again, forcing himself to focus, not to panic, not to overthink this. It was fine. Felix was going to get him out of this, and no one ever had to know about this . . .

Leiter’s lips returned to Bond’s, and Bond shut his eyes and breathed in. Leiter’s flesh hand was cupping Bond’s jaw, and Bond wondered if Leiter could feel his pulse pounding in his neck. 

And then the lock came open under Bond’s hands, and he tore the chains off of his arms and legs, and kicked up off the bottom, following Leiter back to the surface. Leiter helped him out of the tank and down to the ground, where they both collapsed together.

Bond lay there limply in Felix’s arms and gasped for breath. As his heart rate evened out and he came back to himself, his face reddened, and he shifted away from Leiter, who looked away. For a moment, neither of them dared to say anything.

“Didn’t mean anything by it, you know,” Leiter said eventually, not meeting Bond’s eyes. “Nothing . . . unmanly to it. I just did what I had to do to keep you breathing.”

“Of course,” Bond said, distantly. “Yes, of course. I owe you one. It doesn’t mean anything.”

He got to his feet and straightened his soaked suit. And if he wanted to turn to Felix and pull him close and breath in one more time - 

Well. He knew he could never, ever admit to it. 


End file.
